


A Magpie and a Ring

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha Kuroo Tetsurou, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Yaku Morisuke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: Some omegas claim to enjoy their heats. Yaku is not one of them, which Kuroo thinks is a shame.





	A Magpie and a Ring

**Author's Note:**

> heeeey, a very patient anon requested _"An omega (Yaku or Tsukkishima) has really bad cramps during their heats, and he feels like a freak because of it. Kuroo is the perfect alpha that helps him feel better."_
> 
> I hope you enjoy, anon!!!

Yaku shifts around under the blanket, sighing in restless sleep.

Yaku has shitty heats. 

He's never told Kuroo as much, but they've been in the same school, same team, rode the same buses, and shared the same friends this whole year. It'd be a hard thing to miss. 

It's normal for omegas to use scent suppressing patches during heats, but the omegas Kuroo's met typically use just one. Yaku uses at least four: one on each gland on either side of his neck, and one on each wrist. This thoroughly mutes what must be an incredibly potent scent, but Yaku also visibly suffers from painful cramping and lack of energy. He becomes groggy and irritable, and he's been caught napping the clubroom more than once. If the cause was anything other than heats, Kuroo would've made fun of him for it, but it feels like a low blow. 

At times Kuroo's thought about asking what sort of pain reliever Yaku uses, if he's on any kind of suppressants – maybe recommending some of the brands he sees his cousins using? But he's never quite worked up the nerve, both because of the awkwardness of the topic itself, and how explosively Yaku would probably react.

He's actually done a pretty good job of following Yaku's lead and pretending his heats do not even exist at all, but it's the end of the year, now. Kuroo is staring to think of Yaku as his friend, and his friend is sleeping less than three feet away, struggling with his heat, and each soft whisper of fabric from Yaku's mat makes Kuroo itch.

It's an omega's job to have a heat, and it's an alpha's job to help them with it. That's how Kuroo's been raised. He's only just gotten old enough to really be useful, but already he likes it a lot. He's helped his cousins and some of his friends, and even one of his omega senpai, and all of them gave Kuroo a sort of buzzing, comforting satisfaction. It felt good, and the omega he's helping feels better, and. He could do it for Yaku, too. If Yaku was okay with it. 

Kuroo stares at the lump across from him, trying to make up his mind, when Yaku lets out a sharp sigh, just this side of a whine. 

Kuroo leans closer before he even realizes what he's doing. 

"Hey. Yaku," he whispers, as loud as he dares while surrounded by their sleeping team. When that doesn't work, he reaches out to jostle Yaku lightly. "Yakkun."

Yaku fights consciousness valiantly for a moment, brow creasing, before his eyes finally open. 

"Uh." Kuroo's words dry up, oddly intimated by Yaku's blank, especially dark eyes. He clears his throat. "Want some.. company?"

Yaku continues to stare, uncomprehending, probably not even awake. The silence stretches and Kuroo feels his face heating in embarrassment, _this is dumb, of course Yaku won't want his help –_

When Yaku suddenly lifts the corner of his blanket, silently inviting Kuroo next to his warm, sleep-heavy body. 

Their mats are practically touching anyway, it's an easy thing for Kuroo to shift to his right, slipping in alongside him, and then there's no hesitation. He was expecting some level of awkwardness, but Yaku is immediately on him, a sleepy ball of soft warmth.

Kuroo grins to himself, pleased, tilting his head to allow it when Yaku starts seeking out his scent instinctively. 

This is a sensation Kuroo's used to – or it should be, but there's a sharper, more intense thrill, here. He should be relaxing into it, he nearly fell asleep when doing this with his cousin last month, but his heart actually starts working in overtime, jumpstarted by this new and exhilarating thing – it's _Yaku_. The first person he understood as a rival, stubborn, proud _Yaku_ , who is suddenly, very pointedly, an omega, and in his arms, and – Kuroo is blindsided by the short, rumbling purr that escapes him.

 _That_ is embarrassing. Or it would be, if Yaku hadn't shivered against him in response. Kuroo can literally feel the tension ease out of Yaku's body, the restlessness finally blanketed to stillness as true sleep settles. 

Kuroo stares down at the top of Yaku's head, heart racing even faster at the thought of doing this next time Yaku's heat comes. 

But they don't. 

Predictably, morning arrives and Yaku is quick to extract himself from Kuroo and then some, landing three feet away from the bed mat, staring in red-faced horror – Kuroo tries to call a truce, but Yaku isn't having it, recoiling both from Kuroo and any discussion about heats, only hearing it as mockery no matter what Kuroo says or how he says it. 

A year later, he walks into the club room to find Yaku with his forehead pressed against his locker, slumped miserably, and he tries again.

"It's not a big a deal or anything," Kuroo says, rubbing at the back of his neck. "But if you want, we could - I could do what I did before – "

"What I _want_ is _you_ to stop throwing that in my face!" Yaku snaps. This isn't like a normal fight because instead of waiting for Kuroo's response, he turns and leaves the clubroom, still holding his shoes in his hand, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Fine," Kuroo mutters, into the empty room.

~

Yaku's heats are shitty.

They came late at fifteen, about two years after most omegas in his classes. 

At fifteen, Yaku was stubborn about his privacy and solving problems on his own, but the strangeness and pain of this was something else entirely. 

Forced to swallow his pride, he went to his mother for help. 

" _Really?_ Your _first?_ " she had looked surprised, and not in a good way. "I just assumed your father – " she shook her head, waving her hand dismissively. "Well, anyway, what do you need?"

"Uh. I," Yaku had stuttered, feeling uncharacteristically timid, and stupid. He hadn't realized he was supposed to know this already.

"Scent patches, obviously," his mother had said, wrinkling her nose.

Yaku had wanted to die. 

He agreed in a rush, not asking for anything else, because the quicker the conversation ended, the quicker he could escape to his room, where he could hide for the rest of his life. 

In the aftermath he doesn't know what else he was expecting. His mother is an alpha, and she's always been blunt and to the point. What would she know about heats? 

His father, a beta, attempts to discuss it with him later that night, while Yaku hides under the blankets, and refuses to lift the pillow from his head. It's stammering and uncertain, a lot of talk about sex and responsibility. Nothing about the more practical, immediate concerns: the disgusting mush between his legs, or the rapidly building pain, or the strange tenderness in his muscles, the exhaustion, or if there's any other surprises he should expect. Yaku doesn't know how to swallow his pride enough to bring any of that up, so they leave it there.

Like his parents, his grandparents and uncles are a mix of betas and alphas. The closet omega in the family was a great grandmother, who Yaku was always discouraged from spending much time around while she was alive, the only explanation ever given was a vague _she's extremely traditional_ , so he doubts she would've been much help with heats anyway.

But Yaku can make do, and he does, four times a year.

Once, they play against a team with an omega setter, who laughingly mentioned that he was in heat between sets. Yaku had watched, confused and stunned, wondering how he managed it – Yaku could never be that nimble and energetic in heat. One of his biggest fears is a heat striking during a tournament or important exam, but thankfully his cycle hasn't aligned with them. He had assumed the same for other omegas who played, but apparently his heats are just that much worse. 

Yaku read an article describing heats as a familiar pleasurable pain that every omega knows. They called it a satisfying ache, the kind found in your arms and legs after a very intense work out.

There has yet to be any kind of pleasure in the knotting tension that clenches tight in Yaku's lower back. The cramps that peak in the middle of the night, spasms of pain shaking his body awake from deep sleeps, leaving him nearly nauseated and exhausted in the morning. Combined with the standard cloudy headedness, and on his worst days he's left nearly swaying in his seat through class. 

The only good thing about it is the end, the pain slowly, slowly ebbing until Yaku finally reaches the day he can show up to the gym with a body that's not riddled with cramps and fogginess, a relief so intense he could nearly tear up.

And _that_ is easily the worst part. The rest of it, Yaku can mask or hide. He can clean the messy, sticky, humiliating surprises, he can cover embarrassing scents, and he can endure all the pain and discomfort. But how quick he is to anger, and how quickly that anger turns to tears, is a loss of composure Yaku can't stand. 

He's never felt more ridiculous in his life than at the peak of his heat, turning his head as quickly as he can, biting his lip hard to keep his chin from _wobbling_ because Tora _joked_ about Yaku losing his edge after missing five receives in a row. He'd laugh it off any other day, he'd use it as motivation to prove Tora wrong, he'd smack Tora upside the head for his rudeness, he'd do anything other than turn into an insecure, impotent child.

He spends most of his time during his heats in his room, disliking the needy creature he becomes, and not wanting to subject his family to it. 

~

His cycles missed all his tournaments, but tend to line up with Golden Week without fail. 

Each Golden Week, Yaku's family travels to a resort in the mountains. They call it camping, but it's a large, lavish building with three restaurants, a spa in the basement, and a rooftop pool – just with views of forest rather than a city. 

The invitation to Kuroo is a daring one. They've been dating steadily since graduation, and Kuroo's met Yaku's family before, in short bursts, one on one. Meeting everyone at once, though, will have all the pressures of a week long job interview, and to sacrifice his entire Golden Week to do it is asking a lot. Yaku almost wouldn't ask at all, except he really would enjoy Kuroo's company, and he figures if it gets bad they can just hole up in the room together. His heat will probably hit, but he's found that the mountain air helps, plus, with Kuroo around, the pain usually doesn't spike too violently. He figures with these two things combined, he should be normal enough. He's prepared this argument carefully - but the invite is barely out of his mouth before Kuroo agrees.

"Really?" Yaku asks.

"What? I love camping," Kuroo says. 

"Liar."

"Ah, you're right," Kuroo says, then croons shamelessly in Yaku's ear. "I guess it's just an excuse to be around Yakkun." 

"Fuck off," Yaku laughs, putting his hand to Kuroo's face and shoving him away.

The day comes - Yaku drives to Kuroo's in the early morning, but they don't even make it to the edge of the city before the dull, warning ache of Yaku's cramps start. It's low and steady in his back, and he shifts in his seat, uselessly searching for some position that will alleviate the pain.

"You alright?" Kuroo asks, after a long while of pretending he doesn't notice.

Yaku grunts vaguely, annoyed with both the pain and his own miscalculation. 

Maybe the easy heats from before weren't caused by fresh mountain air, just the lack of stress that comes from a vacation - because it's growing worse as Yaku considers this next week, and everything that could go wrong. This is his first trip with Kuroo as a couple, and though he's hidden it well, Yaku knows he's hurt Kuroo's feelings in the past from being too blunt. Yaku's entire family is very much the same, blunt, and that's assuming they even _attempt_ to be nice. Kuroo's not one to bite his tongue either, if he gets pushed to that point, and now Yaku's going to be half useless the entire trip.

Thankfully, the Yakus take to Kuroo well. Two aunts and one uncle are alphas as well, and too young to have started their own families yet. They take one look at Kuroo and apparently think _new friend!_ , already laughing together by the time they start unloading the luggage.

"God _damn_ , Eito. How much did you bring??"

"This is his fifth bag!! He packs like an omega."

"Yet the actual omega only brought one bag," Kuroo says.

"Well, that's _Morisuke_ ," his uncle says, and rustles Yaku's hair until he steps out of the way. "Not exactly a normal omega."

It's the sort of thing Yaku had taken as a compliment, a point of pride, all growing up, and probably would even today if it wasn't for Kuroo's raised eyebrow. Kuroo is unsure of how to react – typically he'd press this point. Yaku tenses, waiting for it. But Kuroo must be too aware of his burden to impress the lot of them, of the good energy going, and the whole week waiting ahead of them. It's a relief when Kuroo lets it drop. 

"Let's just stay up here," Kuroo suggests when they make it to their hotel room. It's a large, lavish space with a bed long enough that Kuroo's feet won't dangle off the end, and bathtub big enough for five. There's room service and cable, and Kuroo is currently standing on the balcony, admiring the view of the forest, then the city beyond that, then the glittering, thin line of the ocean on the horizon. The idea certainly has appeal, but it's the sort of thing that would be unforgivably rude to his parents, at least on the first night. 

They get dressed and head back down to the bar in the lobby. 

An early dinner turns into evening drinks while everyone settles in, catches up, fusses over Kuroo. Soon they're relaxed enough to start having the typically irreverent conversations that make Yaku's grandparents give firm looks of disapproval to mask their poorly hidden amusement. 

Yaku is quiet through most of this. Everyone is getting along, it's a good, companionable atmosphere. That should help, the growing ache _should_ pass, and he should be able to join them soon enough. They're talking about sneaking into the roof top pool after it closes so they'll have it to themselves, while the older generation pretends not to hear it – it's stupid but it sounds fun – but when Yaku visualizes the pain in his back he sees cruel iron thorns, digging into his muscles, tearing with jagged edges. 

"Feeling hot, Mori-kun?" his aunt asks, and Yaku realizes he's actually started to sweat from the pain. 

"It's warm in here," he says, and she accepts this answer. 

Yaku pulls up his legs and drops more of his weight against Kuroo's side, and feels the pain grow meaner, sharper.

"Seriously. You alright?" Kuroo asks, during a break in the conversation.

Yaku scowls to himself. "No," he admits. He needs to leave soon, he's not even wearing any scent patches… Realizing this could quickly turn into something worse than uncomfortable – something _humiliating_ – Yaku finally excuses himself, saying he woke up early, he's exhausted, and his family bids him goodnight, too distracted by Kuroo's shiny new presence to get too upset about it.

Except that Kuroo follows him out the door. 

Yaku stops just short of the lobby, putting out his hand.

"Stay, Kuroo.” 

"Seriously? While you go upstairs?"

“You're having fun – "

"I'd have more fun with you," Kuroo says, playing that smitten, love sick fool, and this time it makes Yaku roll his eyes.

"I'm cramping and I just want to go to sleep," he says, making his voice as sharp and cruel as the pain digging into his back. "It's not going to be _fun_."

Kuroo finally drops the game, one eyebrow raised in annoyance. “I didn’t come here to hang out with your parents and Eito-kun, Morisuke.” 

Yaku feels his face flush with defensive anger. What does Kuroo expect?? _He's_ the one who decided to date an omega. It's not Yaku's fault, he didn't _ask_ for this to ruin their vacation – he tenses all over, but it only makes the pain worse, and he feels a disabling wobble travel down his back, to his legs. He can't fight right now. He just wants to sleep.

"Look, I'm not perfect," Kuroo is saying, running a hand through his hair. "But would it kill you to let me give it a shot?"

"A – shot?" 

"To help you with your heat."

Yaku stares. "What?"

"I know you'd rather do it alone, but – it wasn't _that_ bad last time, right?" Kuroo says, expression equal parts annoyed and insecure in a way that makes him look about twelve years old. _Last time?_ Yaku combs his mind, abruptly coming up against the memory of training camp together – all the way back in first year. Yaku had been in pain, and Kuroo had held him, and it – had been nice. Humiliatingly so. "If I fuck it up, you can tell me and I'll fix it – "

" _Fine_ ," Yaku hisses out. "If you – want. Fine." He swallows thickly, doubt still lingering. "You really – want to?"

"Yeah," Kuroo says, looking mystified. "Of course I do?"

"This isn't like some – porn, this isn't a sex thing – "

"I know, Yaku," Kuroo says, expression flat and Yaku suddenly remembers the abundance of omegas in Kuroo's family, in his social circle. Of course he knows. Kuroo looks at Yaku closely, expression softening. "I want to help you." 

It's not hard for Yaku to imagine Kuroo going out of his way for his omega cousins. For him to bend over backward for them, expecting nothing in return. It seems like a perfectly normal, natural thing. He's not sure why it feels so impossible when he imagines Kuroo helping _him_ instead. Why it feels like something he ought to be embarrassed about. Why it feels like Yaku's giving something up – something painful, something he doesn't especially _want_ , but – it does.

"Fine," he repeats, again. Still feeling annoyingly small, he turns, walking into the lobby, into the elevator, selecting their floor.

Kuroo follows, and thankfully isn't making a show of this like he normally would after getting Yaku to change his mind – he leans against the back of the elevator, checking his phone, then snickers and turns his screen so Yaku can see the text he got from Bokuto. He is really far into his heat, though, and can't keep up the act anymore. He nods at the picture of a cat being startled by a fruit – or something – and feels each second between the light traveling from one floor to the next.

Sometimes there will be small, courtesy heat supplies in hotel bathrooms, but when they make it to their room, there's nothing to suppress scents that Yaku can find behind the mirror or under the sink.

He drops his forehead against the cool surface of the cabinet. The pain and throbbing in his body makes even getting to his feet again seem like a monumental task. 

"Hey." Kuroo pokes his head through the door. "I can't find your heat pads?"

"There aren’t any. I don't use them for heats,” he says, without opening his eyes. He's never used them for anything except for injuries, but - the idea has instant appeal. The temporary relief that comes from soaking in a hot bath, localized and pressed against his back's tense, quivering muscles… Why hasn't he thought of it before?

Kuroo hasn't said anything, and when Yaku looks up he sees Kuroo staring. It's one of the rare occasions where he looks openly flummoxed, and Yaku wishes he could enjoy it, instead of growing irritated and defensive again. Kuroo is clearly wondering the same thing: how could Yaku _not_? But Kuroo is already turning toward the door, pulling on his jacket. 

"I'll be back," Kuroo says, then hesitates, hand on the door. "Is there – _anything_ you use? For pain?"

No. No, he doesn't use anything for his own comfort, he's never found any method beyond what he came up with on his own, at fifteen: gritting his teeth and bearing it. Feeling beyond idiotic, Yaku turns his head sharply, feeling his eyes start to sting. "No," he forces out.

"Alright," Kuroo says, and the door closes softly behind him. 

If he was truly alone, Yaku would probably collapse there on the cold floor as long as it took to gather his strength again, but refusing to be found in that pathetic state when Kuroo gets back, Yaku manages to find the energy undress, and crawl onto the bed, but not under the blankets. Sleep during heat consists of the light dozes between shivering bursts of cramping pain, so he's laying there in the dark with his eyes closed when Kuroo makes it back from the store, but he's tense and biting on his own fist, wide awake.

There's the sound of a plastic bag rustling as Kuroo sets it on the chair, then pulls off his jacket. 

"Your family's worried you're sick," Kuroo says. 

"What'd you tell them?"

"That I'd keep an eye on it," Kuroo says, dropping onto the bed beside him. Yaku finally opens his eyes, looking over his shoulder. Kuroo is ripping open the side of a cardboard package. Heat pads. "They're kind of weird about your heats," he mutters. Then quieter, " _You're_ kind of weird about your heats."

Yaku grunts, distracted by the pad Kuroo pulls out, watching him peel off the plastic strip with practiced fingers. Yaku turns away, burying his face in the pillow as Kuroo's hand rests on the middle of his back.

"Here?"

"... Lower," Yaku mumbles, and Kuroo does as asked, the pleasant warmth of his hand slides to that spot, where it's replaced with the aggressive, blanketing heat of the pad. 

"Oh," it seeps into his muscles instantly and Yaku's eyes flutter shut, his breath catching in his throat, frozen at this feeling before melting back against the mattress. "Oh. Shit."

"Feel good?" Kuroo asks, and Yaku isn't even annoyed by how pleased with himself he sounds, it _does_ feel good. 

Kuroo stands up again, and starts undressing. 

Yaku, feeling a little dazed from sheer relief as the pain ebbs, turns his head to watch.

Kuroo's body is, annoyingly, perfect. His muscles are all long and lean, and the way they move is hypnotic. Watching his back as Kuroo pulls his shirt over his head reminds Yaku of years ago, when Coach Nekomata needed help switching out the air compressor in the gym. Kuroo had bent down, and grunted low in his chest before hoisting the heavy machine up onto his shoulder, muscles flexing and shifting in arms and back as he took on the weight.

The sight had actually marked Yaku's sexual awakening, and feeling Kuroo manhandle him with that same strength always sends ravenous arousal through him, some pathetic, greedy thing thrilling at the idea of Kuroo, _his Kuroo_ , being strong enough to do it, strong enough to simply put Yaku where he likes, and keep him there. Where he likes is typically his own lap, or against the mattress, against the wall, or anywhere else that makes it easy for Kuroo to tease him until he's crying out and coming. 

He's not exactly _there_ when Kuroo climbs back onto the bed, but he can still appreciate it, distantly, as Kuroo lifts him from where he's splayed out like a limp starfish, pulling him up until they're chest to chest. 

"Tell me if this hurts," Kuroo says.

Well. That's normally the sort of thing that would get Yaku asking questions, but he gets the answer immediately as Kuroo slides his fingers downward, then presses into the tender muscles of Yaku's lower back.

There's a moment of panic – the area is still throbbing with pain, instinct says _do not touch, keep away –_ but the relief is so instant Yaku's objection trips up on his tongue, turning into a hitched breath of surprise. _Ohgodthat'sgood._

"Doesn't hurt?"

He makes some sort of noise, throaty and broken and strange. Kuroo huffs out a laugh, continuing to move his fingers with deep, firm pressure, massaging in circles and Yaku's vision blurs, coming back to find himself moaning, nearly drooling, utterly lax against Kuroo's chest.

"There you go," Kuroo murmurs, pressing firmly up Yaku's spine, then back down.

"Kuroo," Yaku moans, his arms flop, limp and useless, over Kuroo's shoulders, attempt to grip Kuroo's hair, his neck, something, before Kuroo presses _just_. _There_. Yaku is startled by the sound of his own sobbing cry.

"None of them downstairs helped you through a heat before?" Kuroo asks. 

Words are nonsense noise to Yaku's delirious brain. The very concept of heat is beyond him at the moment, let alone the far distant, cold, unpleasant, unimportant past, or anything that's not Kuroo's warmth, Kuroo's body against his, Kuroo's fingers melting the pain effortlessly away.

Still, part of him knows Kuroo asked a question, and wants to respond. He gives another short, pathetic whine.

"I would've," Kuroo mutters, sounding just a little put out. "If you'd've let me."

"Kuroo," Yaku turns his face, pressing against Kuroo's neck, breathing him in, and he didn't think this could possibly get any better, but – he breathes in again, with a whine. It’s a scent Yaku knows, and trusts, the scent of his pack, where he belongs, where he's safe, where the alpha he's chosen can be found. The scent that has more recently meant feeling incredibly good, getting fucked incredibly well, where any degree of vulnerability is greedily, enthusiastically exploited by Kuroo to make Yaku feel as good as he possibly can.

This isn't painful, and it isn't exactly pleasurable, it's exactly what he's heard other omegas describe. A strange blend of the two, a kind of sensitivity he's only ever felt as intense pain during heats, a rawness that, now in Kuroo's hands, soothed by Kuroo's calm voice and scent, brings a tingling, strange new sensation. Shivering and sensitive, like a nerve stripped and exposed to the open air.

He realizes this strange newness, this transformed pain, has left him hard, and nearly gapes in surprise. He's never managed this during a heat in the past, and had written it off as impossible. 

He and Kuroo have had sex, so Kuroo feeling his erection is hardly anything new. This situation still has the potential to be something embarrassing, though – Yaku has never been comfortable with his heats, getting _off_ to one could possibly feel pathetic and gross, but – ultimately this is a hypothetical. Yaku's rational thought and judgment is sitting in stunned, enraptured silence as this scene progresses, hardly going to interrupt. 

Instinct guiding him to ask for _more_ , Yaku catches on Kuroo's chin with a short bite. Kuroo grins, looking charmed before turning his head for a kiss.

Yaku shivers. Kuroo is still treating him gently: this is a soft, tender kiss, but Yaku is sensitive enough for it to send tingles shivering down his spine. Finally getting a decent hold of Kuroo's hair, he twines his fingers into it for leverage, and as they continue to kiss, Yaku feels his hips start a lazy, shallow rocking motion against Kuroo.

"Alright?" Kuroo asks, quietly.

Yaku whimpers, upset about the broken kiss, trying to follow after Kuroo's lips, not sure what Kuroo's asking is _alright?_ He pushes himself closer, hips moving against Kuroo with urgency, with real, growing want. Kuroo's breath catches, and he groans in what Yaku recognizes is his attempt to maintain his self control. 

"Morisuke," he says, hands tight on Yaku's hips. "Do you want my to help with that?"

 _Oh_. Yaku nods, and his eyes slide shut again when Kuroo's hand wraps around his dick.

He can't help the choking gasp at that contact, that touch, and his relief is shameless, body buzzing for _more, yes, yes_ , hips thrusting immediately into that steady, wonderful pressure. It's nothing like the light touches Kuroo usually teases him with at first, Kuroo is being generous tonight, following the pace Yaku is setting, praising softly as Yaku thrusts up into his hand.

"You're so soft like this," Kuroo murmurs, sounding impressed. His free hand, resting on the small of Yaku's back slides lower, searching and clever as they slide between his cheeks. "So wet already, Yakkun. Barely even - shit. Barely even started... "

"Kuroo," he gasps, rocking back eagerly onto Kuroo's fingers, canting his hips for him. God, Kuroo is good at this, knows where to press, how hard, barely there brushes against the most sensitive spot inside Yaku at first, and with each touch the fingers move firmer, then a little firmer than that, edging out the pain bit by bit, until all Yaku can do is rock his hips between the two sensations, a deliciously maddening attempt to somehow get both at once.

Suddenly, Kuroo gives it, trapping Yaku in place against him, a constant, heavy pressure against his prostate, and around his dick. It's a sudden overload of pleasure, and Yaku chokes on surprise, sightless, and arching violently.

Jerking again and again into Kuroo's hand, fingers digging into the flesh of Kuroo's back, it feels like this orgasm is simply does not have an end, and all he can do is sob desperate, mindless noises into Kuroo's shoulder until it finally does.

Shivering, feeling floaty and mindless, Yaku is utterly unable to gather himself. But - this is fine. Kuroo is with him. 

There's a shadow of an ache, just starting to creep back into his consciousness, but this isn't enough to bother him, either, for the same reason. Everything will be fine. Kuroo's still here, Kuroo's still touching him.

A strange, rumbling noise is what finally brings him back to reality – something he can't really place at first beyond the fact that he likes the sound a lot, makes him think of the of the dryer in his family home kicking on – a noise that's safe and comforting – then realizes the source is Kuroo. 

"Are you – purring?" 

Kuroo ducks his head against Yaku's shoulder, embarrassed, but doesn't stop the rumbling purr. It's something alphas typically only do for their mates, their _life long_ mates, and it's completely involuntary. 

"You're hopeless," Yaku laughs softly. 

"Yeah, well," Kuroo says. "It's your fault."

"Mm. Should I take responsibility?" Yaku asks. He's taken notice of Kuroo's dick, which is so hard it's started leaking as it stands there, politely ignored by the both of them. Yaku sighs as he takes it in hand, smearing the mess around the head, loving the shiver that travels through Kuroo's body, the way it makes his purr drop even deeper, like a pleased cat. 

"You better," Kuroo murmurs, eyes shut, head tipped back, enjoying this attention. 

Feeling good, but also feeling the ache start to creep back in, Yaku hooks his leg over Kuroo's hip. Kuroo blinks, taking in the scene as Yaku turns onto his back, encouraging Kuroo on top of him. He wants Kuroo to fuck him now, fuck him with this stiff hardness he got from making Yaku come before. 

Kuroo allows this, shifting into position while Yaku closes his eyes, going by touch alone as he leads Kuroo's cock to his wet and stretched hole. 

It slots inside him perfectly, perfectly. Kuroo is thick, enough that Yaku worried it would be too much the first few times, but he knows this dick now, and knows he can handle the way it's spreading him open, learned to relish the sensation. Soft, involuntary noises out spill of Yaku's mouth by the time Kuroo pushes in as much as he can, until Yaku's properly stuffed, pinned, quivering around Kuroo's cock.

He whines - so sensitive he's almost anxious about it, ready in a way he's only felt at the very crest of orgasm, with Kuroo pushing him toward the edge. He knows that's still a long way off and can't imagine how he'll endure this, how it could possibly be any _more_ than it already is. 

After a bit of necking, Kuroo moves again, and the first pull out and push in answers Yaku's question. 

"Ah - _ah!_ " Yaku cries out, struggling to make sense of the intensity of the sensation. More sensitive than he's ever been, it's as though Kuroo's tapped something deeper than his prostate, each thrust pressing directly against that strange pain/pleasure mix, making his body arch, writhe and twist, making him wetter, and his noises more desperate as Kuroo continues to move in solid, heavy thrusts.

It's not as rough as Kuroo can get, but anything more would be painful tonight. He needs exactly this, this firm but careful grinding, rocking motion. Each timed, steady thrust eases Yaku up higher, gently, giving the growing pleasure in manageable, swelling bursts, making him sob and make broken attempts at Kuroo's name, to beg, to string together any coherent thought. 

This pace is going to be a serious test of Kuroo's endurance, but still, Kuroo knows Yaku's body, he _enjoys_ Yaku's body, it's clear from the look on his face that he'd be happy to fuck Yaku like this forever. He moves steady and constant, pushing himself inside Yaku, murmuring near-gibberish praise under his breath: how good this feels, how good Yaku is, how perfect.

"Good, gorgeous, Morisuke - so perfect for me... " Kuroo's hands, resting on Yaku's hips suddenly adjust, then tipping Yaku upward, shifting his weight, adjusting the angle – 

Yaku gasps. 

Bits of white freckles across his vision, is he screaming? He's not sure, his face feels wet, from tears or sweat or both. He's digging his nails into Kuroo's shoulders hard, Kuroo's pace is speeding up, his cock a firm, perfect, dizzying pressure against his prostate, coming faster, deeper, the pleasure building with each thrust.

"I can't – I can't," he hears his own voice begging. 

"Come on," Kuroo is saying, a gentle, soothing tone, shifting to rest on his forearms on either side of Yaku, trapping him in, spread and pinned to the mattress. His thumb strokes at Yaku's brow, a soft, gentle motion that's at complete odds with the way his hips meet against Yaku's ass, a greedy, harsh speed, wet and obscene, the thickness of his cock forcing its way in, out, over and over, each rub of flesh and nerves better than the last. "Come on, Yakkun."

"Kuroo," he begs. He can feel the orgasm building low in his gut, a hot, coiling pressure that makes his legs tense, curling, sliding higher up Kuroo's waist. He whines, higher, louder, as the tension starts to echo that painful torment from before – but Kuroo catches this, pulling out, readjusting, getting a better angle to _push_ back in, _there_ , right where Yaku needs it, pleasure higher than ever as it rides the momentum from the pain. " _Kuroo_ ," Yaku sobs, his thighs shaking, arms wrapped around Kuroo's shoulders with everything he has. 

"Come on, Yakkun, lemme see it," he says, pushing him higher, higher – 

_Oh_. Oh god. Yaku's hips snap up, arching as he finally reaches it, coming, _hard_ , tipping his head back and crying out at the pleasure ripping so intense through his body he has no other choice. God, fuck. Yes. 

Utterly spent, mind floating, Yaku's hands have dropped from their death grip around Kuroo's shoulders, limp against the mattress on either side of his head. 

"Yes, beautiful, yes," Kuroo mumbles as he keeps moving.

 _Shit,_ Yaku breaths hard, watching Kuroo above him, unable to do anything more than that, admiring it distantly. The shape of Kuroo's strong shoulders, the way his brow creases, his mouth hanging open, focused as he rocks into Yaku, chasing down his own pleasure, the effort of it sending a sharper mix of it zinging through Yaku's own spent, limp body.

"So good, that was so good," Kuroo says, and it's obvious he's still trying to sooth Yaku. 

Outside of the heat of the moment, Yaku can hear the tone for what it is - something Kuroo usually does not use, something soft, gentle, and something that should be embarrassing, _infuriating_ , to hear directed at him. But his defenses are down, and Yaku's heart jerks in raw, almost painful affection for his alpha for this effort. Appreciation he almost never allows on the surface, just because it would mean acknowledging how much he really does need Kuroo. How much that soft, gentle tone had actually helped. Kuroo, who took care of him so well, so entirely, exactly what he needed, even when Yaku himself couldn't figure it out... 

He shifts his arm, pressing it against Kuroo's.

Kuroo blinks open his eyes as Yaku coaxes his hand out of a tight fist, lacing their fingers together. He doesn't know how to say it. He hopes, somehow, Kuroo can feel it, see it in Yaku's face, how much affection he feels for him, how lucky he is to have him, how much Kuroo did for him, always does for him, never holding it over Yaku's head, not when it really matters. 

Yaku tightens his grip on Kuroo's hand, staring into Kuroo's eyes as he finishes, coming into Yaku with pointed, sharp, rough snaps of his hips. 

"Tetsurou," he says. But Kuroo isn't all there. Still lost in his own pleasure, he collapses against Yaku, grinding deep in a few last greedy, instinctive pushes of his hips, and mouths at Yaku's neck with that same sloppy instinct. 

Yaku allows himself to be mauled, curling around Kuroo, wanting to wrap him up tighter. He hates that his hands can't even meet across the full length of Kuroo's shoulders, because it's not enough, his body – buzzing with satisfaction, pleasured down to his bones – just isn't big enough for how he feels right now.

Yaku can feel something terrifying building in his chest, and, possibly the first time in his life, doesn't try to shut it up. 

A sob slips out. Apparently every ridiculous, idiotic tear he's ever held back is there, waiting for this chance, because it's quiet and ugly at first, just shaking and snotting, but quickly grows in intensity, until he's properly crying, hiding his face in Kuroo's shoulder as he does, a sudden release of emotion he didn't realize was twisting inside him. 

"What is it?" Kuroo asks when he has a voice again. His voice is light, like he's pretty sure these aren't bad tears, but wanting to make sure all the same.

"I love you," Yaku says, voice wobbling terribly. 

"Ha. High praise."

"Fuck you," Yaku says, still crying. "It's not – the fucking – " 

"No, I know," Kuroo says, because this is not the first time Yaku's said it. He meant it every time before, but there's something new here, some new layer to the emotion he didn't realize was carefully hidden away. Kuroo rests his hand on the side of Yaku's face, and this is Kuroo at his best. Glowing and pleased and happy. He's gorgeous and his expression is openly affectionate, loving, and tender. He's so overwhelming it makes Yaku cry harder. 

After he's finished, calmed back down and reduced to exhausted sniffling, Kuroo climbs out of bed, and Yaku actually moans at the loss, wanting to reach after him like a child after their stuffed animal fell off the bed. But he comes back with a cloth, and a new heat pad – Yaku hadn't even noticed the old one losing some of its strength. Kuroo switches it out, and goosebumps climb up and down Yaku's body as the fresh heat hits him, subduing the building ache where it stands. 

It's a kind of relief Yaku never even imagined possible. 

"I love you," he slurs again when Kuroo climbs back into bed.

"I _know_ that one is because of the heat pad."

"Yeah," Yaku agrees, and Kuroo laughs as he settles in, pulling up the blankets, gathering Yaku's spent, limp body close, reaching over to turn off the light.

Yaku closes his eyes, breathing in Kuroo's scent, hearing the faint, quiet rumble in his chest. The pain is gone, for now. It will probably come back, maybe even in just a few hours, but Kuroo's here, and he'll still be here when Yaku wakes up again.


End file.
